If you've never read Jenny Lawson's blog, stop reading and get thee to http://thebloggess.com/
Done? Ok let's proceed.
I discovered Jenny's blog about a year and a half ago when one of my friends was telling me about she kept trying to get a pic of Nathan Fillion holding twine. In the beginning I thought her blog was simply quirky humor, but after a while I realized: the humor is to combat the depression. Her posts can be extremely raw at times, but honestly those are the ones that are the most uplifting. In a recent post about depression lying to you, I commented on dealing with infertility-based depression. She commented back directly to me about knowing the exact same troubles.
So in the spirit of Jenny (and countless others battling depression), I have decided to count my accomplishments for today:
I got out of bed.
I put in my contacts.
I went for a walk outside with the dog.
I'm sure some of you might think "well those are simple everyday tasks" and you'd be right. During the work week those are things I do without thinking about them. Because I have to. Work forces me to get my butt out of bed. But the weekend? No. The weekends are for pjs and glasses and hoping the dog can hold it because the last thing I want to do is open the door to the outside world.
Depression lies. It tells you that you're not good enough, that because you can't have a child that you're less of a woman. That you aren't worth a damn and should probably just end it all because what good are you if you can't even do one simple human task, like conceiving a child. Everyone else can do it, why can't you?
After reading the article I posted yesterday, I really got to thinking about it. Infertility truly is a silent struggle. It's not something that people can see so they know what's going on. You can see the effects of cancer on a person. You can't see an infertile woman. Sure, she may be childless but she can always laugh it off "oh we don't want children" or "oh it's just not the right time." I've said those on multiple occasions. You can't just up and tell people that your womb is barren. Because then you get pity. I don't want pity, I want compassion and understanding and for someone to fix me.
All I've told my mother is that it's going to be difficult for us to have a child. I think my mother-in-law knows about the same. My sister-in-law knows a little more, mostly because she herself had to endure IVF and knows about the struggles (although her fertility issue was a blank-shooting husband soooooo). T knows everything. Every time I see my obgyn or my endocrinologist, she's the first person (after husband) that I tell.
How do you tell someone who's perfectly healthy that you can't have children?